


i touched the universe, and back it slid; and i alone —

by LaRondine (messier31)



Category: Cavalleria Rusticana (short story) - Giovanni Verga, Cavalleria rusticana - Mascagni/Targioni-Tozzetti & Menasci
Genre: Catholicism, Gen, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Infidelity, Italy, Loneliness, Operas, Pre-Canon, Pregnancy, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, opera fic, santuzza needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29504376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messier31/pseuds/LaRondine
Summary: They had warned her about Turiddu. If only she had listened.





	i touched the universe, and back it slid; and i alone —

**Author's Note:**

> I love cavalleria rusticana with my whole heart and it's genuinely gotten me through some tough times. I recently learned that in some versions of the show, santuzza is pregnant/has a child with turiddu, so this story sort of plays with that idea. I also just found a story by @Precipice called "you are innocent (and I forgiving)" that's a super interesting take/coda on the end of cav so go check it out! 
> 
> in the mean time, this is sad, I feel so much for santuzza, and I'm sorry. 
> 
> unedited and written in one sitting. title is from the poem "I saw no way— the heavens were stitched" by emily dickinson. 
> 
> xox

They had warned her about Turiddu. 

It was no secret in the village that he had had relations with Lola before he left for the service. But in that time she had married Alfio, and so Turiddu turned his attentions away from Lola and to her. To Santuzza, little Santa, quiet, demure, seldom seen or heard, the daughter of a miser, little Santuzza who lived on a vineyard on the edge of town.

They had warned her about Turiddu, but who could blame her for falling for him? Such a handsome, strong young man, with his easy humor and dashing uniform and a mouth made for saying all the right things. 

He was a perfect suitor, always bringing her flowers or small presents, and it was almost enough to ignore the half-crazed look in his eyes at night. That dark glimmer haunted her dreams, but the man sleeping beside her put her at rest. She loved him so much she forgot what it meant to sin. Whispers in the village turned to talking. Talking turned to accusations, scorn, derision. Never towards him, only her. Only Santuzza who had strayed from God's light, sleeping with a man out of wedlock. 

She went to Mass; she sought forgiveness, but found little. It didn't matter, not then. With Turiddu by her side she could take on the world in all of its cruelty. 

He loved her!

No, no. Already he repented, his affections towards her forgotten.

_Go home, Santa_ , he cried in a wine-sodden fury. _Go home and leave me be, for I have never loved you_. He raised his hand towards her, and she flinched away before he could strike her. 

She fled his home in tears, only to find him outside her father's house the next day with flowers and kisses. He loved her. He would make it up to her. 

Santuzza learned after a short while that these promises did not last very long. She never stopped loving him. 

They had warned her about Turiddu, and she had not listened. 

She saw him in town on nights Alfio was out, and she could not deny the truth any longer. Lola jeered openly, triumphantly, when they passed each other in the square. Turiddu was nowhere to be seen, not with her; his gaze was unfamiliar, uncaring. She dressed somberly, modestly, but no clothing could protect her from what she had done. Eyes followed her everywhere she went, hot and shameful as the scarlet flush of her cheeks. 

_Easter is coming,_ she told Lucia. His mother was the only soul who dared speak with her these days. _I will go to Mass, and pray for strength._

Lucia kissed her forehead. It was often the only outward tenderness she showed to the woman carrying her grandchild besides wiping her face with a cool cloth as sickness gripped her every morning. Her face grew drawn and pale. She had not bled in many weeks. Soon her stomach would begin to swell, her breasts starting to ache already with the terrible cost of her love. 

She prayed, and it was not enough. She cried until no more tears would fall, and still it was not enough. Nothing would be enough to make up for what he had taken from her. 

Church bells rang in the distance, startling a flock of birds over the fields, green with the joy of the coming spring. It was almost Easter. She would go to Mass to pray not for her own soul, but for the soul of the child, his child. She rested a hand on her stomach, certain she could feel a fragile heart beating through her dress. 

They had warned her about Turiddu. If only she had listened. 


End file.
